


The Whiskey Fire

by johnny cade (johnnycake)



Series: Switchblades and Leather [13]
Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Self Harm, abuse talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnycake/pseuds/johnny%20cade
Summary: For once it's Johnny that meets Dally at the vacant lot, not the other way around.





	The Whiskey Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just Like Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607697) by [dyingpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet). 



> WE LOVE A REMIX. HOPEFULLY so PLS GO READ THE ORIGINAL AS WELL!!!!!!!!!!! it deserves just as much attention if not more since it was the original and so fuckin' amazing i had to write my own. 
> 
> i wrote this because i've roleplayed something just like this plenty of times, but thought it'd be fun to write down as this sort of story.

When Dally was ten years old, the guys he’d hung out with in New York had gone camping and taken him with them. They’d thought it was fun to take a little kid and show him everything they knew. They taught him how to fish, how to set up a tent, how to cook over a fire, and how to build one. It had been the best weekend of Dally’s life and the only time he ever felt like a normal kid.But then the weekend ended and they went back to the city and the memory faded until all that was left of it was the impression of something better and the skills he’d learned while gone.

That was what he was doing now: sitting in the vacant lot, making a fire out of newspapers stored in one of the rusted oil drums, twigs he’d found scattered throughout the lot, and a thick pair of sticks, since he’d forgotten both his matches and his lighter at home.

Somehow he liked the work, the concentration he had to put into making the fire, to turning the sticks just right in just the right way to spark a flame. The boy who’d taught him had been Native and had learned from his grandfather on their reservation. He’d been one of the few boys who was kind rather than hard. Now that Dally thought about it, he reminded him of an older Johnny. If Johnny were Native American and didn’t get nervous all the time.

A few sparks flew from the sticks and one of them finally caught flame. Dally threw them quickly into the pile of twigs and newspapers, hoping it would be enough to make a nice fire as he sat back on the car seat. He’d come here looking for Johnny. His father was home and he was being an ass and he wanted company that didn’t hate him. But when he’d gotten to the lot Johnny wasn’t there, so Dally decided to wait. He knew that Johnny would appear eventually.

A twig snapped off to his left and he turned.

Speak of the devil. He smiled, seeing Johnny’s silhouette coming towards him out of the darkness, but his smile faded quickly. There was something wrong. Johnny was staggering. He was walking stiltedly, taking too long strides that went too back and forth.

Johnny came into the light of the fire, holding a hand up to his face to shield it from the light as he blinked, turning to Dally, saying, “Dal?”

Dally was already standing, ready to come over to Johnny if it looked like he was going to fall over. He was staggering so bad that he just might. He watched Johnny stagger to one side while standing still and that was when it clicked in Dally’s mind.

Johnny had been drinking.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Johnnycake,” he said, his voice soft and concerned, a strange anguish distorting his features. “You been drinkin’, kid?” Alcohol was a horrible way to deal with your problems. He knew. And Johnny only did this when something was _really_ wrong.

Johnny took the hand away from his face and Dally could see he was frowning. “Nah, I don’t drink, Dallas,” he said, but he didn’t look at Dally as he said it. He took a few staggering steps over to the car seat and collapsed onto it. Dally sat back down gingerly, looking at Johnny with concern.

Dally wanted to joke with Johnny, wanted to hide the pain behind humor like they always did, but he couldn’t make himself and when he spoke again, his words were completely devoid of emotion: “You sure about that? It seems like you mighta had a few.”

“Yes, Dallas,” Johnny replied, slumping against Dally. “I’m sure.” He giggled then for no real reason that Dally could see, leaning into Dally as he did so. A part of Dally wanted to push him off, tell him to stop laughing and tell him what was going on, but he liked the contact. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the comfort of Johnny’s weight on him sink into him for a moment. He didn’t want to ever move again.

Johnny’s fingers moved to play with the lapel of Dally’s jacket, his fingers going around the button there and moving in a circle around it. “Okay, Johnnycake,” Dally said, trying to make his voice sound more lighthearted than he felt. “It sure seems like you’re lyin’, but okay.”

“I’m not like him!” Johnny shouted. “I don’t lie, okay, Dal?”

“Like who?” Dally replied, startled by Johnny’s sudden outburst.

“My old man,” Johnny slurred, playing with Dally’s sleeve now.

“Who ever said you were?” Dally asked, turning to Johnny now. He must’ve turned too fast because for a moment Johnny looked up at him, fear in his eyes, and Dally hated himself. He wasn’t supposed to _ever_ make Johnny feel that way. Not him. Not ever.

Johnny shrugged. “My old man does. He says I’m selfish and lazy and entitled. He says I don’t appreciate nothin’.” Tears formed in Johnny’s eyes, making silent tracks down his face as he spoke. “He says that he can treat me how he wants cause he’s my old man and I’m just a kid. He says I don’t deserve respect cause I ain’t earned it.”

“Hey,” Dally said softly, tilting Johnny’s chin up so he was looking at him. “You know that ain’t true, right? None of that is true. Your old man is a lying piece of shit.”

Johnny pulled away looking down again, the tears still running down his cheeks. His chin was wobbling now. He was two seconds away from breaking down. Dally had spent enough time around him that he could tell. Dally forced him to look at him again, saying softly, “C’mon, Johnnycake, I ain’t mad you.” He forced a lopsided smile. He wasn’t going to let his Johnnycake think such horrible things about himself. Especially not things his _parents_ , who didn’t even love him, had told him.

“You should be,” Johnny replied, looking into Dally’s eyes now, his voice barely more than a whisper, Dally only barely caught what he said.

“Why?” Dally asked, feeling startled for the second time that night.

“Why what?” Johnny asked, drawing his brows together.

“Why should I be?” Dally repeated. He wanted to kill Johnny’s parents. He always wanted to. How dare they make their own child feel like this? And it wasn’t just that. They beat him. His father had done far worse than that. If he didn’t think he’d be sent to prison for the rest of his life, he’d do it for all they had done and more.

Darry’d had to stop him more than once.

The last time had been the night Johnny had almost jumped off the bridge.

A part of Dally felt like someone was going to have to stop him now too.

“Cause I ain’t worth nothin’,” Johnny replied finally as though it were obvious. His head went limp in Dally’s hand. Dally’s hand went limp too and Johnny was staring at the ground again. His other hand clenched into a fist.

He was going to kill them. With his bare hands, he was going to fucking kill them.

“Fuck that,” Dally said, glaring. Johnny flinched and he quickly added, “The whole gang would fall apart without you, Johnnycake. You know that. Without you we’d be nothin’.”

Johnny didn’t reply. He closed his eyes tightly, looking more exhausted than Dally had ever seen him look as he slumped against Dally’s shoulder again. He reeked of alcohol and Dally wondered where he’d even gotten the alcohol to begin with. He didn’t look any older than fourteen, no one was ever going to sell to him, and he didn’t steal. He supposed Two-Bit could’ve gotten it for him, but that didn’t make sense either. Everyone in the gang knew Johnny not only didn’t drink, but _wasn’t supposed to_. The last time they’d found him wasted, still clinging to a bottle of rum, he’d had a bloody nose and been covered in bruises, but he wouldn’t tell them how he got that way. Drinking was just bad for him. The only person Dally could picture him stealing alcohol from was his old man, but even then it was a risk. If his old man caught him, he’d be beaten within an inch of his life. Literally.

“I hate there, Dallas,” Johnny finally said in a whisper. “I don’t wanna go back.”

Dally wrapped his arm around Johnny, pressing his forehead to his temple and closing his eyes as he rubbed Johnny’s back. He hoped that Johnny was drunk enough not to care, not to notice it now or remember it the next day and ask about it. He hoped, too, that it was dark enough and late enough no one would see. He wanted to take Johnny away from his family more than anything and the fact he could not promise him that he would never go back broke his heart.

“You ain’t there right now,” was all he could say.

“Yeah,” Johnny replied, his words still slurring. “Guess not.” His eyes fluttered as he turned them towards the sky and all the stars. Dally knew Johnny had a thing about stars. “It’s nice out here.”

“I’m surprised you found your way here,” Dally said, trying to lighten the mood.

Johnny turned red. “I ain’t _that_ drunk. I ain’t Two-Bit.”

Dally ruffled his hair, pulling away quickly when he realized he still hadn’t. “You’re a horrible liar, you know that, right? And Two-Bit would kick your ass if he heard you sayin’ that.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Johnny replied instantly, moving so he was lying down, his head on Dally’s legs. “None of y’all ever hit me. He’d just laugh and go get drunk.”

Dally did laugh at that because Johnny was right. None of them would ever hit Johnny. They’d hit each other, but never Johnnycake. He was the kid, the pet. No one would dare touch him like that. Even if he really pissed them off.

After a few moments, Johnny’s breathing evened out and Dally knew he was asleep. The fire was already dying down, the product of no matches, lots of wind, and a poor remembrance of how to start a _good_ fire to begin with. Johnny shivered on the car seat next to him and Dally took off his jacket, draping it over Johnny instead. Immediately, Johnny pulled it close to his chest, curling into it and letting out a soft sigh.

Dally knew he was going to freeze tonight, but for some reason, he really didn’t care.

* * *

“Rise and shine kids!”

Dally groaned. The words were far too bright and cheerful for the morning, but the moment he woke up he realized the morning in general was just too bright and cheerful for his mood. The sun was shining down through the leaves right on his eyes and he had to shield his face to keep from blinding himself as he opened his eyes. From somewhere off to his left he heard another groan and remembered Johnny. It was clearly the groan of a very hungover boy. He covered his face with Dally’s jacket, the light too much for his eyes.

“C’mon, get up!” the same voice said again, this time shaking his shoulder. “Y’all can go back to the house. Steve and I are goin’ to work.”

Dally opened his eyes again and saw Sodapop standing over them.

Sitting upright, his back cracking loudly as he did so, Dally looked over and saw Steve trying to pull Johnny up and awake, while Johnny curled under Dally’s jacket, keeping it over his face and groaning as Steve tried to move him.

“Leave the kid alone,” he said, sternly. “He’s real hungover.”

Soda and Steve looked at each other and whistled loudly. Johnny cried out and sat up, his hands over his ears, a grimace on his face. When they stopped and laughed, he glared at Soda and Steve before standing and stumbling as he did so. Steve caught his arm, laughing again and Johnny groaned again at the sound.

“Johnnycake partyin’ with us now?” he asked.

Johnny didn’t reply. He pulled himself out of Steve’s grip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket as he walked slowly towards the Curtis house, his feet dragging in the dirt as he did.

Dally watched Steve watch him go, his expression turning from one of amusement to concern. He turned back to Dally. “He okay?” He could tell they were all remembering the last time this had happened, all the blood down Johnny’s face and shirt from his bloody nose.

“Yeah,” Dally replied. “He came here drunk. I don’t think anythin’ bad happened except his old man bein’ a piece of shit. I watched him the rest of the night.”

Steve nodded. “Good. Keep an eye him for us while we’re gone, though, okay?”

Dally nodded in reply, standing and going after Johnny.

Johnny was the pet. Everyone worried about him because everyone knew what he went through, what his mind was like. All of them were privately worried he would snap one day and he really would jump off that bridge.

 _No,_ Dally thought to himself standing. _I won’t let him_.

He wouldn’t. He would show Johnny life was worth living and he was loved if it was the last goddamn thing he ever did.

**Author's Note:**

> again: the original idea isn't mine, i just wrote my own version. pls go read the original and support that author too <3 they def deserve it and their original work is amazing!! <3 
> 
> also because i got asked once on another platform i posted this one: yes i do base a lot of these off personal experience. like...lol my un is johnnycake, my icon is johnny, and i write mostly from johnny's perspective for a reason. like he me guys.


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